Avalanche
by ArentYouSophiaLoren-8887
Summary: He never thought he'd be able to say this, but even on his weakest days, Eli might- just might- be getting a little bit stronger. ONESHOT.


**Author's Note: Admittedly, I do not know much about hoarding. The representation here is based on my own speculation and some rudimentary research I did before writing this. If I have in any way misrepresented or stereotyped this disorder, I sincerely apologize to those who might struggle with this or know someone who does. Please realize that was not my intention.**

**That being said, I also don't own Degrassi. Nor do I own Lord of the Rings, but THAT much should be obvious to y'all. **

**REVIEW.**

Some things they've thrown out thus far:

1. A tub of army men

2. An old bath towel that reeked of mildew and had green mold growing on the underside of it

3. A half-eaten box of Chinese food that nearly gave Clare the shock of her life when she picked it up and realized, a second too late, that it was crawling with worms.

4. A broken clock radio

5. Those empty popcorn tubs (not all of them, but enough to where the room doesn't smell like the floor of a movie theatre anymore)

6. A pair of never-worn cargo pants she cannot imagine Eli ever wearing (apparently neither can he, because he doesn't even remember buying them, and they're almost two sizes too small)

**I.**

They've been at it for almost a month now, and in that time, Clare has learned a few tricks of the trade. She's learned to read Eli's moods like radar, a weatherman keeping track of an oncoming storm before it touches down.

She knows what things that Eli can part with on his own, which ones he needs a little push to toss, and which ones are better left for another day.

Then, other times, she's not as good as she thinks she's getting. Some days aren't as encouraging as others. Some days, it's just plain hard, and exhausting for the both of them. Eli is really trying, but they can only do one box a day- and some days, not even that.

Some of the smaller stuff- old wrappers, binders, socks, etc. goes easier, and after a few weeks, he doesn't need her to encourage him anymore; he just puts them in a box with barely a pause or a second glance, though his eyebrows will twitch or his hands will wring like they itch whenever he does. She doesn't interfere, though; she knows that it's important he do it on his own.

But then something- and she can never predict just what it will be- will set him off, and put him into such an anxiety-ridden frenzy that he'll exhaust himself with the effort of trying not to repeat his little scene in the school hallway.

Still, she stays patient and tries to stay positive. Rome wasn't built in a day.

_Brick by brick, my friends. Brick by brick. _

They're building something up, and tearing it down at the same time.

**II.**

Taking medication is something he has to actively force himself to do.

Sure, it's supposed to help him quell his anxiety. Sure, it's supposed to help him get better- something he's committed to doing. Sure, it's going to help him move on with his life.

All positive things; steps in the right direction.

But it's the most humiliating way possible to do so.

Medication makes him feel so…weak. So helpless, useless, low.

Life's already torn him down enough as it is. But the pills, they're like kicking him when he's down; sucker-punching him when he's already admitted defeat.

He hates that he's so become so helpless that he needs _pills_ to make him face life.

He hates that he isn't strong enough to do this on his own.

**III.**

The first time that she wonders if she is really going to be able to truly help Eli is when she watches him try to throw out Julia's fluffy "J" pillow.

His hands tremble as he thrusts the pillow away from his body, trying to release it into the garbage box finger by finger. His lips are white and his eyes wide, his breath coming out in shallow pants. Eli is trying so hard to get rid of it, but he's standing in front of the trash shaking and he just _can't_ let go of it.

He's so visibly exhausted that he just wants to sleep, so they call it a day.

On the way out, she touches him on the arm to let him know that she's not upset. And she's not.

But she leaves wondering if she's bitten off more than she can chew.

**IV.**

Crystal mints become his new addiction.

The medication gives him dry-mouth, so to avoid feeling like he's swallowed the Sahara, his therapist recommends that he take up some oral habit to keep the saliva in his mouth- either chewing gum or some sort of mint candy.

He tried gum for awhile, but that didn't work out so well. Sure, it kept his mouth from drying out, but soon his jaw ached from constantly having to chew, and he hated the aftertaste it left in his mouth and the way it gave him gas pains.

Plus, he would chew the same piece of gum for days, unless Clare or Adam or his mother monitored him. It actually got to the point where he would put the piece in a glass vase next to his bed and just put it back in his mouth the next day.

When his parents found out about that, it put an end to the gum-chewing.

So he took up Crystal mints as his new fixation. And they're not too bad, really. They don't give him gas, at least, or a bad aftertaste, and Clare is always joking that his mouth is a lot more kissable now that it always smells so good. So _that's_ a plus.

But overall, it still doesn't make him feel much better.

**V.**

She learns to figure out when he's had enough by his body language. She gages how close he is to breaking by how badly he shakes and sweats. When something is really scary to him, he'll start making this low moaning noise in the back of his throat, the hum of a generator, and that's her cue to stop now and lay low to avoid a meltdown.

But once, she lets it go too far, because she's tired and frustrated and her patience is beginning to snap, and he's had a rough day.

They're trying to get rid of Julia's hairbrush, which still has her hair on it. He can't do it, and he throws a fit, hurling it across the room and kicking a pile, making her jump.

He yells at her to leave, and she does, not sure which one of them she's angrier at.

The next day, he shows up on her doorstep and says, "You got mad."

They talk.

She's struggling to understand; she isn't perfect, and he needs to understand that.

He's struggling to just get through each day. He needs her to realize that it's like he's being tortured; he just CAN'T do some things yet.

It's a fragile understanding, but enough to rebuild them.

That day, they don't throw anything out, but instead organize. They do laundry, which soothes him. Plus, with all of the clothes that Eli has in his room that he hasn't washed, doing laundry is often a marathon event, so the good mood will usually last a good time. They put on records and fold laundry, listening to music and the rain.

Unlike throwing things out, which only brings a lot of tiredness, there is something about doing laundry and sorting through it that relaxes him. It's not throwing anything out. It's a new beginning, laundry- putting in something dirty and rinsing away all that's dirty to make it all fresh and new again.

A new beginning, every time.

**VI.**

Nights are the hardest for him.

He's alone, and while Clare is only a phone call away, he knows that he can't call her at two-thirty AM. She's being there as much as she possibly can, but he can't attach himself to her. He's scared of running her off or wearing her down, and needs to give her space.

But nights are terrible, long periods where he's alone.

He doesn't have a trash can in his room- not just because it caused him physical pain to have one, but because now that he's beginning to throw things out, he knows that the temptation to dig through the trashcan and revert back to old ways would be too much. But at night, when he's all alone, he lies in bed and thinks about everything that he's thrown out, chanting the list over and over again in his head. It weighs him down like stones pressing down on his throat, and makes him shudder.

There are times that he's awake all night long, pacing in the little space that he has, rummaging through the piles that he and Clare have made, obsessively counting everything. He needs something to hang on to, so he wraps himself in his bed quilt, clutching it to him like a security blanket, and rocks himself to bed. He can't help the little fretting noises that come from his throat.

It's those moments that make him hate himself the most- those moments where he's reduced to total helplessness, gripping and rocking and fretting like a small child. Sometimes he cries, and feels sick with his weakness.

He hates that he's this broken, crappy thing, and that he might never get better.

At night, the weakness threatens to overwhelm him.

The nights are always terrible.

**VII.**

He eventually throws out one of Julia's make-up things- an eyelash curler and a bottle of green nail polish- and Clare can't help it, she feels as victorious as the army of Rohan must have felt when they realized they had fought off Saruman's army at the gates of Helm's Deep after an overwhelming battle all night in the freezing rain.

That night, they quit while they're ahead and cook dinner for themselves. Eli puts on a record- something vaguely swing with a little bit of honky-tonk tossed in like a dash of Tabasco- and while their pasta cause is marinating in its own juices, he grabs her and twirls her around the kitchen in her bare feet, then grabs the small of her back and dips her low.

She thinks that _this_ must have been what it felt like for those storybook heroes: to greet the morning sun after an endless night, casting their rusted armor and bloody swords aside, realizing that not only were they alive, but, incredibly enough, they'd _won._

They'd done it.

**VIII.**

Clare can always tell when he's had a really bad night, because he comes to school zombie-eyed with an old man shuffle. He doesn't respond to much, but when he does, it's usually to snap at Adam for talking too much or Clare for asking too many questions. After awhile, they both learn to recognize his long nights by his confused speech pattern and unusual reticence.

They still hang on, though.

Eli isn't sure why. Although he doesn't doubt that Clare and Adam both love him, somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that they would eventually get tired of him and his situation, become so exhausted and overwhelmed when they realized they had bitten off more than they could chew, and when he had run dry their sympathies, they would leave him.

But they stick by him and believe him like nobody ever has, and he's both awed and humbled by their unwillingness to give up on him.

**IX.**

After a few weeks on his medication, she can note a difference in Eli's mood, even though he swears up and down that he doesn't feel anything.

But she and Adam can both tell the difference in their boy. He smiles more, and tenses a lot less. Sure, some things will still set him off- and they can never predict what they'll be- but when he does, it's with much less ferocity and wildness than that first time in the hallway. The little things seem a lot less worrisome after some time, and he laughs more than either of them can remember; really laughs, not just that sarcastic bark he's got.

He's not turning backflips or skipping through a field of daisies, granted, but he seems so terrifically _light_, and it's enough to have all three of them feeling like they can.

**X.**

Little things still fill him with guilt and anxiety, but try as he might, he just can't seem to put them behind:

1. When Adam shows up at his house for a Guy's Night and reminds Eli that he was supposed to bring the beer, Eli reminds him that he can't drink, because of the meds. Adam doesn't get mad; he doesn't even seem to care at all. But the fact that he can't even be normal on _Guy's Night_ is like a kick in the head, a reminder that he's not normal and he doesn't know if he ever will be, fully.

2. He kept his old math test from last semester's trig class; he cheated his way through it, and he wants to keep it, because he might need to learn it someday.

3. Cleaning out the fridge gives him spasms of anxiety and guilt, so Clare makes him stand up at the top of the stairs while she does it, and she turns on the TV loudly so he can't hear it. He isn't allowed to move.

4. He keeps magazines and newspapers as a source of inspiration for his stories, but that is a huge bulk of the mess.

5. He has two tubes of toothpaste by his bathroom sink, even though one is empty, and dozens of unfinished cups of water on his bedside table.

6. More than once, he's dug through the trash for junk mail he knows his mother tried to hide from him.

7. Morty is still stuffed with so much crap in the back. Paper towels, regular bath towels, water bottles, food, an extra pair of shoes, an entire duffel bag filled with socks.

With all of these little weaknesses, routines and systems become even more important. Laundry and dishes are soothing, because it makes him feel less overwhelmed, and there's a system to it. Every time his mother goes grocery shopping, he goes with her, and always unpacks all of the bags for her. Unpacking the groceries is such a little thing, but it fills him like a cup of strong coffee. Finishing the projects he starts shows that he is at least respecting his efforts.

It's the little things like that that keep him from believing that the mess is hopeless and uncontrollable.

(Well, and Clare, but this is something that he can handle on his own, and it makes him feel the tiniest bit better about himself each time.)

Even on his weakest days, he gets a little bit stronger.

**Author's Note: This is, bar none, the toughest thing I've ever written. It was floating around in my head forever and I had a tentative outline sketched out for awhile, but I was always too scared to actually tackle it. You can see why. Anyway…REVIEW?**

**Oh, and the song that Clare and Eli were dancing to was "Swingin'" by John Anderson.**

**(And no, I don't own it. That, though, should go without saying)**


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